Temple Run
by sifuamelia
Summary: Meet Guy Dangerous. He's just your average guy– in fact, he's just your average college undergrad studying anthropology. But he used to be just your average explorer! Guy's life was much more exciting back in the good old days. But those days are long past him now… or are they? If the game Temple Run had a backstory. Rated for future content.


**Chapter One**

**The End of the Beginning**

_Is anybody out there?_

_Is anybody listening?_

_Does anybody really know _

_if it's the end of the beginning?_

_The quiet rush of one breath_

_is all we're waiting for_

_sometimes the one we're taking_

_changes every one before…_

xXxXx

**Guy Dangerous: **Meet Guy Dangerous. He's just your average guy– in fact, he's just your average college undergrad studying anthropology. But he _used_ to be just your average explorer! Guy's life was much more exciting back in the good old days of his childhood in Egypt, when he lived the life of a daring adventurer on his mother's archaeological dig. But those days are long past him now… or are they?

xXxXx

I probably shouldn't have broken up with Gabby in the middle of a dorm hallway. I should've known she'd make a terrific scene. I should've known there'd be a glorious row. But the thing is, maybe that's why I'd broken up with her in the first place. I just really don't know her that well.

"So this is how it's going to be?" she'd hollered over the sounds of thumping bass, attracting curious looks from multiple partygoers. _There's about to be drama!_ Drama to students is like blood to sharks– they can't help but have a feeding frenzy over it. "Just like that, I'm about to get the whole, 'it's not you, it's me,' speech?"

Like the idiot that I am, I had thrown back, "Actually, it's sort of you, not really me!"

That had gotten a real rise out of the steadily growing audience, a nice undulating _oooOOOoooOOOooo_. Someone, I don't know who, had thumped me on the back, as if to say, _Good going, man!_ But it hadn't felt good. I'd felt _horrible_. I'm not a mean guy. I'm just a very tired one.

I also hate parties.

After that, she'd thrown her beer at the wall (it had shattered audibly over the dubstep bursting from the overhead speakers, but it was okay– she _definitely_ didn't need to finish _that_ one) and literally charged at me, eyes rolling and fists clenched. Attack mode, t-minus a few seconds. The ex-boyfriend is about to become the dead-ex. Fortunately, her friends had held her back. Unfortunately, they had given me quite a few looks that could _kill_. Right then and there, I knew I'd be the talk of the campus for a least a few days, possibly for the rest of the week. And that was when the people all around me had begun to scream.

xXxXx

_Has someone been murdered? Are there no more drinks? Has the acid finally kicked in?_

Nope. Apparently, a _professor_ has showed up. Busted. _Well, I was just leaving anyway–_

I feel a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Mr. Dangerous."

_Ah, shit._

Someone's had the courtesy to turn off that God-awful music. The hallway, no, the entire floor goes perfectly silent for the first time that night as it watches me slowly turn around and come face to face with Professor Montana Smith, distinguished head of the Division of the Social Sciences... and my legal guardian.

xXxXx

**Montana Smith:** Meet Montana Smith. He's the second greatest explorer ever (can you guess the first?). But he's currently living a double life– as head of the prestigious Division of the Social Sciences at the University of Chicago, Professor Smith has had to keep his past of various tomb-raiding escapades under wraps. But history may just repeat itself– the Professor has recently gotten wind of perhaps the greatest treasure-seeking opportunity yet. It's the chance to rediscover history's ultimate lost fortune, and he's going to need all the help he can to find it. Perhaps his protégé, Guy Dangerous, would be of assistance on what may be his last and greatest exploration (or wild goose chase)?

xXxXx

"Mr. Dangerous," he repeats, and my heart is going a million miles an hour, because I'm 99.5% sure I'm about to get busted. _But why me, over everyone else? Why has he singled me out from the crowd? Did he hear what I said to Gabby, and can I really get in trouble for that in freaking _college_? Or is it because he has me in class?_ But as my eyes dart frantically around the hall, I pick out other kids who definitely attend classes at the SSD: there's Kevin, who studies PoliSci; Andrea, who minors in Social Thought; and I'm almost positive that that guy who people call Nacho (don't ask me why) is currently scrambling to finish his Economics thesis.

No, I'm pretty sure the reason I'm getting picked on is because Professor Smith and I go _way_ back.

"I'd like to see you in my office, please." His tanned, weathered face is emotionless, his dark eyes unreadable under their heavy, salt-pepper brows. I internally shiver, but I just can't bring my body to move itself. It's like my bones have turned to jelly or something.

"Now, Guy."

"Sir," I mumble. I rub the back of my neck ashamedly. The Professor never gets _physically_ mad, if he is, in fact, mad at me. He only gets like _this_, and it's somehow worse than any yelling match. Especially because it's in front of an entire dorm-full of my peers.

"As for the rest of you," he suddenly says, and I can't help but look up. "I can't tell you what to do tonight. You're all of legal age." He inhales through the nose. "But. I can give you some good advice from a man who attended plenty of parties in his day." Someone snorts in the back, and he finally shows some kind of emotion, but only one that I can detect after years of knowing him– his eyes narrow in annoyance some infinitesimal bit. But he continues anyway: "Get some sleep tonight. It'll really help you out on your exams tomorrow."

And with that, he beckons me towards the elevator lobby. Behind us, an open-mouthed crowd remains in the darkness.

xXxXx

**Montana**

It's nearly morning as I walk with Guy down East 59th Street towards the SSD, where my offices are located. Guy looks as if he's about to up and bolt, so I attempt to lighten the mood with my well-renowned humor. "I hope you never feel the need to break up with _me_."

"Ah, Professor, why were you even _there_–"

I shush him. "All in good time, young Padawan. I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

"Are you cancelling the final and giving everyone B-'s or something?"

"No, it's a _good_ surprise!" I retort, mildly offended. I hear him quietly say, "Well, that's not the _worst_ surprise," but we've reached our destination: 1126 East 59th. The Department of Anthropology, built of pale stone and half-covered in ivy vines.

Guy looks mildly surprised; his eyebrows nearly shoot up into his hairline, a characteristic gesture. "So, is this about an assignment or something? I'm telling you, I have everything lined up to graduate next week. All of my credit hours, my room is packed up, I've even studied a bit–"

"No. This isn't schoolwork. It has something to do with your major, though… I guess you could think of it as extra credit." We jog up the steps in tandem; I fish my keys from deep within my pockets and unlock the heavy old wooden doors, beckoning him inside. "_Entrez-vous._"

I see him roll his eyes, but he steps out of the early morning darkness and into the silence of the Department. I'm about to follow him in, but that's when it happens: out of the corner of my eye, I spot the palest, smokiest flash of color. Transience personified, if you will. It's dawn now, and I know that my aging eyes usually play tricks on me in this kind of half-light. So when I whip around on the step to try and spot its source, I'm not surprised to find that there's nothing around.

"Professor?" Guy's voice floats uncertainly towards me from the dark foyer. "Are you coming…?"

"Ah… yes! Of course!" I stow my keys and hastily get inside. But I can't suppress a sort of shivery feeling, a small kind of shuddering itch, that they have, in fact, finally caught on.

_We don't have much time left._

xXxXx

**Author's note: **My mega-disclaimer here is that I don't attend UChicago (I picked it as Monty's place of work and Guy's place of study because the Division of the Social Sciences is highly renowned). I haven't been to the Windy City, either, since I was very small. So if I get any details pertaining to either horribly wrong, please alert me, and quickly! I am trying my hardest. Secondly, I know this chapter was a bit boring. Don't worry: it gets better! This is all just exposition. And finally… yes, I do realize that most upperclassmen don't live on campus, nor do they attend silly dorm parties. I just needed all that to set the stage. Thanks for reading, by the way! Your reviews, etc., are greatly appreciated!


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